


Focus

by railise



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/railise/pseuds/railise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's grief upon Uther's death reawakens Gwen's grief for Tom.  Set during 4x03.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Focus

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [AG Fics Mini-Challenge 6](http://ag-fics.livejournal.com/81963.html). Prompt: "Arthur/Gwen canonverse, shortly after Uther's death A/G have or almost have first ever sex."

Gaius had pronounced the king dead, covered his face, offered condolences, and taken his leave. Merlin had waited awhile longer, but Arthur could not move, could not speak, just stared at that unmoving form beneath the sheet. In the back of his mind, he noticed Guinevere nodding at Merlin, indicating he should go. Still, Arthur's focus was on that form, willing it to move, willing his father to _breathe_ , for it all to be wrong...

Gwen took his hand and softly said, "Come with me, Arthur."

She was the only person other than Uther who could have commanded his attention just then, yet as he looked dully over at her, he did notice figures in the doorway. They were there for the king, of course; to begin the process of preparing his body. His nod to her was jerky, the movement of his feet automatic as she led him out into the corridor and ceasing as she released his hand once they were in his chambers, so that she could close the door. He had not moved when she turned back, and she understood completely. She knew his lost expression, knew what was behind it, in his mind and in his heart. Knew the indescribable pain, that the word "pain" did not begin to encompass it. Part of him had died with his father, and it would never heal. He would learn to live with it, was all.

She knew that too well.

She brought a stool over and climbed on it to help remove his chainmail and the gambeson underneath it, so he would be comfortable. Barely aware she was doing so, he moved only as much as necessary, neither of them speaking through the process. When he was down to his shirt, she took his hand once more and led him over to sit on his bed, seating herself beside him, her arms going around him in a way that encouraged him to lean on her.

Gwen knew better than to say anything, as there was nothing _to_ say. For awhile, Arthur merely stayed as they were, with his head on her shoulder. Then, the tears he had been fighting came, and he clung to her waist, sobbing into her lap. She held him as best she could, and ended up crying, as well-- for Arthur, for her father, for all the pointless loss. Whilst she was devoted to being a source of comfort to Arthur, it was also re-awakening her own grief, from when her father had died. Arthur had been kind to her then; Merlin, Morgana, and Gaius had been there for her, but she had not had someone this close to offer what little solace as might be possible to find. She was grateful that she could offer that to Arthur today.

Holding each other from a seated position was only comfortable for so long, and eventually they wound up laying on the pillows at the head of the bed, Arthur's head on Gwen's belly and their arms still around one another. The sobs had long since subsided, yet the tears took much more time to cease the quiet but steady slide from the corners of their eyes.

Eventually, he lifted his head and regarded her for a moment before leaning up to press his lips to hers. If she had been in a better state of mind, she would have stopped him right away. As it was, she welcomed the closeness, and instantly wanted more.

Arthur had not really had a conscious thought in awhile now; he was only feeling, and the sensation when Guinevere returned the kiss, moving against him while she did, was so much more welcome than the screaming rawness he had been feeling before, that he needed more of it. His hands roamed over her, and hers did the same to him, their mouths not parting once; but even that was not enough, so he shifted above her. It was when he thrust against her, already tugging up the hem of her dress-- and when she met his movement-- that he started thinking again.

What the hell was he _doing?_

Instantly, he backed off of her, not stopping until he was leaning against a post at the foot of his bed. He ran an unsteady hand over his face. "Gwen, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry--"

"No, Arthur." She had sat up when he moved, drawing her knees to her chest beneath her skirts and hugging them close. She sighed, looking away. "There is nothing for you to be sorry for. It's I who owe you an apology; I should not have let that happen, but..." She looked away, leaving her thought unfinished. "I'm sorry." After a minute or two in which they collected themselves, she glanced over at him. "You do not need to be all the way over there."

Despite saying that, she was the one who scooted over to meet him. Almost as though nothing had happened, he held an arm out and she snuggled against him. Arthur was grateful both that they came together so easily once more, and that they had stopped themselves earlier; that should not be the way they came together. It should be for the sake of the act and what it stood for, not out of a mindless need. Not like this. It was the one bit of good fortune he had experienced today, that they were on the same page as usual, able to comprehend what had passed between them and set it aside for now, without discussing it; he was certainly not up for a conversation of that caliber.

He absorbed the peace he always felt when she was in his arms; whilst it did not heal his heart, it helped. Finally, he said quietly, "I need to think."

She understood that he meant that in a solitary sense, and sat back, studying him carefully. "Are you all right?"

That same understanding kept him from taking her question the wrong way. Of course, he was not all right; the concept that anything could ever be right again was utterly foreign just then. But, for the way she meant it, he nodded.

Climbing off the bed, she stood beside him. "I will be nearby, if you need me."

"Thank you." He cupped her cheek, and she laid her hand over his before taking her leave.

He lingered on the bed a little while longer, then got up and wandered over to where she had discarded his armor. It was difficult to put it on by himself but not impossible, and he managed, dropping into the chair at the head of his table once he was done. He needed the uniform, needed the security, to focus his thoughts.

They went round and round in a whirl, yet one kept making itself clearer than all the others: magic had killed his father, just as it had killed his mother. And, at the center of both spells, both deaths, was himself. Whilst he was not evil, the magic surrounding him was.

Magic had killed his parents through him. Uther was right; it had to be stopped.


End file.
